


Nothing to Fret About

by Lemon (lemon_sprinkles)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Budding Love, First Contact, First Meetings, Friendship, Lord and Squire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 03:38:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1590311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon_sprinkles/pseuds/Lemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loras had always been proud of his self-assured and confident personality; both traits he had held true to his own character even as a small boy. That was, until he visited Storm's End...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing to Fret About

**Author's Note:**

> Authors Note: Wrote this years ago for RP applications. Decided to post it up as I haven't posted anything in months. Expect a much longer, recent fic from me in the coming weeks.

Loras had always been proud of his self-assured and confident personality; both traits he had held true to his own character even as a small boy.

Climbing up on top of the back of a pony for the first time was done in stride, his little legs easily pressed against the cob while his small fingers grasped the reigns like an old friend. But no one dared to tell him that the horse was actually being lead and guided around by a groom. In his mind, the stableman was just there to give the horse comfort, rather than the other way around; after all, the pony and he had only just _met_ , and that bond Willas continually talked about between horse and rider hadn’t had a chance to form. Or, at least, that was what Loras liked to think.

A few years later and the precarious branch that hung low over a river was no match for Loras. While the branch could easily carry a young child across to the other side, the fact that it swayed and twisted in the wind frightened most from even attempting to climb across it, and on more than one occasion it was used as a last resort dare by the children—after all, only those who really wanted to win the game of bravery would chance the swing and sway of the branch. Loras, of course, was willing to do anything. A silly thing such as the fear of falling in a few feet of water was something he easily scoffed at, and ignoring the protest from his little sister and his gallant brother he climbed the tree, swung down to grasp the branch, and hooked his legs around the limb. Hanging upside down, he slowly made his way to the other side, and let out a victorious ‘whoop’ as he landed safely on the other side.

No one had told him he’d have to find his own way back across the river.

Things had always come easy to Loras as well, due in part to his personal pride; if he was going to do something, he had better well do it right and right every time, lest he be placed in a position where he could be mocked. Dancing came to him as easy as sword fighting, and he implemented both in his training until he was the envy both inside the gathering halls and outside on the practice field. Singing (while never his favourite activity) was another art he took seriously when he began, more in part because he wished to please his mother. He rarely missed a note and carried his voice as best he could, and sang songs of valour and knighthood to his mother when the fools and bards grew too rowdy for her tastes. Archery, hunting, and horseback riding were all perfected over time as well, and Loras soon became Mace Tyrell’s most promising child.

All in all, Loras went through the first part of his life sure footed and proud, his lifetime a constant series of successes and little to no hesitancy or fear. That was, of course, until his father told him he would become a squire for the lord at Storm's End; a young Baratheon whom Loras had heard about but had never personally met. He was told that Renly (a name that Loras thought sat rather well on the tongue) was a kind, intelligent man who was as accomplished at dancing as he was at charming the men and women of his court, and spent about as much money on his clothes as most highborn ladies did. He also happened to be the younger brother of the _King_ , and lorded over the land Loras grew up in. To say that Loras was intimidated by the turn of events was an understatement.

He never let it show, of course. He hid it behind a confident gate and a soft smile, and did not even confess his worries to Garlan whom he looked up to more than anyone else. But he couldn’t help but worry and wonder and question himself during the days and nights leading up to his journey to Storm's End. What if he made a grievous mistake? Fell off of his horse? Couldn’t hold a lance properly? What if he tripped over his feet and made a complete fool of himself in front of everyone? Worst of all, what if Renly didn’t like him? He was, after all, four years older than him, and the thought of the older boy resenting him for his age made Loras shrink back. He didn’t even know Renly, and yet he wanted to impress him—he _needed_ to impress him. His family’s good graces under the eyes of their Lord and their King were riding on Loras’ ability to excite, and he suddenly wondered if he would be able to.

The day he was to leave, he was going to confess his misgivings to his mother; tell her perhaps he wasn’t fit to be a squire for the lord of Storm's End and maybe he would do better to squire for someone else—someone much older than he was and who didn’t have the capacity to belittle Loras. But he lost his voice when she said goodbye, and was even further pushed away from any thoughts of a confession when his Grandmother admired him on his mature behaviour. To be praised rather than ridiculed by Olenna was an accomplishment, and Loras hated to ruin it by showing off his complete lack of maturity and blurting out how he was afraid no one would _like_ him.

It wasn’t a long journey to Storm's End, and yet Loras had managed to work himself into a nervous wreck—a very outwardly composed, curly haired and smartly dressed nervous wreck. He was worrying over the smallest details and going over every possible negative thing that could happen, as if imagining it all would somehow give him peace. He even began to envision the possibility of dragons coming back from their dusty graves for the singular purpose of attacking the Keep as soon as he arrived—it was at this moment Loras began to curse his overactive imagination.

But the day in which he would meet his lord and the man he was to squire for arrived all too soon for the young boy, and Loras had to steel himself for it. He could do this—he never had any troubles before. He could speak as eloquently as any other nobleman; he could dance and sing; he even had practice jousting and was thought to be the best among his peers. This was easy. He had been raised to mingle among those of his status, and although this was in a new environment and a new circumstance, he would not be fazed nor deterred. Growing strong was his house motto, and Loras Tyrell was strong.

And so, with new found vigour and passion, he strode through the halls behind the guards, head held high and hair pulled back in green ribbon, his eyes bright and alert and his mouth set in a firm but determined line. When the doors were pushed aside and the room in which Renly Baratheon was standing in came into sight, Loras bowed as he was trained to do, and in a crisp, clean voice announced his arrival.

His voice did not waver nor crack; the Keep did not suddenly fall down around them; there was neither dragon roar nor the screams of the innocent and he did not suddenly break out into a pox. It was at this point in time that Loras found himself breathing a sigh of relief as all of the horrible things he imagined happening _didn’t_ , and he was left with a sense of pure, unfiltered calmness. He had done it; he had greeted his Lord and everything had gone according to plan. The unease he had felt evaporated, and Loras rose from his bowed position, an easy smile on his face as he turned his gaze to the man before him.

Renly was standing there, greens and gold and blacks adorning his taller, broader frame. Coal black hair hung down just past his jawline, and an easy smile light up brilliant blue eyes as he stared at Loras from behind thick lashes. Loras’ heart took one large thump in his chest that he was certain everyone in the room heard, and the awful realization that he was blushing kicked him in the gut. He was left standing in the middle of the room, staring at his lord while the nerves came back to him, a brilliant flush on his cheeks while his mouth betrayed him in the most awful of ways and hung _. Open_. He had prepared himself for everything—sieges, tripping down and falling, turning into a monkey, breaking a few expensive items—everything was expected except for _this,_ whatever _this_ was.

Loras, at this point in time, would have given anything for that dragon attack.


End file.
